


What Passes For Fun

by Unusual_Raccoon



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e03 Lone Gunmen, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, but like barely related to the plot, horny lauriver, slight tommy bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26430766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unusual_Raccoon/pseuds/Unusual_Raccoon
Summary: “I can see you two are up to your old hunting patterns.” Laurel remarked, her gaze locked with Oliver’s, unmoving and intimate. She supposed if he was the predator, she was the willing prey...and by the look of things, it wouldn’t be long until she was in the belly of the beast.orLaurel and Oliver give into their attraction shortly after Oliver's return home.
Relationships: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	What Passes For Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write thousands of words based on one line of dialogue? Absolutely.

Laurel didn’t know how to handle the situation she was currently in, there wasn’t really a handbook on ‘what to do when your dead boyfriend came back to life, after cheating on you with your sister’. It always seemed easiest to hate him, to loathe every beautiful bit of him. Though she found that was easier said than done. She wanted to hate him, she should hate him, yet there he was with those wicked blue eyes that gleamed when she smiled at him and dour apologies that she had no stomach for.

She told herself she hated him for what he had done to her, to her family. Yet, she still found herself at work trolling the internet for traces of him, pictures, articles, whatever she could get her hands on. Five years and an affair later and she ached for him; only him. It was an ugly hunger that chewed her up, stole her sleep, and lit the jagged remnants of her broken heart aflame.

Laurel had played pretend with Tommy for a handful of bland encounters, closed her eyes until he felt like Oliver, tasted like him, but pretending was never enough. It was just a poor facsimile of what she still desperately craved. After all of this she might’ve felt guilt for what she and Tommy shared, lord knows he fell fast, but it wasn’t her fault that  _ he  _ fell in love with her...just like it wasn’t her fault that whatever remained of her heart belonged to the man that broke it; Oliver Jonas Queen.

She tried to make peace with Oliver, she even offered to be his shoulder to cry on, metaphorically speaking, Oliver had hardly done much crying when they were together and even now, he hardly looked the type to shed any tears. Though try as she might to reconnect, Oliver used her trembling olive branch as nothing more than kindling to the fire he’d started in her.

_ I’m just going to hurt you again...this time it’ll be worse _

His words stung sure, but the sharp smile and sad glint in his eyes hurt even more. She’d keep her guard up this time, she would expect the hurt, that terrible pressure that split up her sternum and made her heart ache. Laurel thought, sometimes maybe the pleasure was worth the pain…

Still everyone around her seemed to think it was best she move on, her father who comically still pined over her mother, her best friend who hadn’t had a steady relationship in years, and Tommy who was just being tolerable to get in her pants.

She loved Jo and certainly wanted the best for her friend, but the idea of going out after work didn’t sit well with Laurel. She wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of dancing with men she didn’t know, there was only one guy she really wanted to lose herself with and her nights were sleepless enough without the added bonus of a hangover. Still, she found herself saying yes if only to support her friend.

It was an average work day that followed her heading straight home as usual. Dishes in the sink and ice cream in the freezer only reminded her of Oliver, which honestly she didn’t need any reminding of. A much needed cold shower later and she had slipped into a little black dress and a pair of heels that would leave her able to walk the next day. Clipping back some of her hair to show off her face finalized the look. It was simple, but efficient. Laurel wasn’t sure when trying to look attractive but unapproachable had become her new normal, but at some point it had, at some point she had figured it was better to ward off any possible attempts at love than welcome it.

Laurel had never been a fan of Max Fuller, one because the guy was an ass in similar fashion to many of Starling’s upper echelon. Two, Laurel had never been a fan of his former fiancee, who could never keep her hands off of Oliver, even after she had been engaged. If what his former fiancee had told Laurel was true, Max’s club was much like the man himself, all flash and no substance.

Laurel watched on as Jo seemed to disappear in the crowd of hot swaying bodies, tossing her hair playfully as she swiveled to face Laurel. Her friend continued to move to the music, no doubt trying to lure Laurel to the dance floor - something that she had no interest in joining. Giving a small shake of her head and smile, she leaned back against the bar.

Perhaps it was fate, sheer luck or even just the grating sound of Tommy’s voice that drew Laurel’s attention, regardless of the how, she was suddenly brought face to face with the man that she desired. Oliver looked like the embodiment of sin standing beside Tommy, that sharp grin and sweet dimples darkening his cheeks as his gaze lingered on her. Her eyes were glued to that small expanse of skin that was exposed by the undone button of his shirt. The blue of his eyes seemed otherworldly under the colorful lights flashing throughout the club, the pink of his lips beyond tempting when crooked into that smug smirk. Her thighs trembled at the thought of that maddening sandy scruff that colored his cheeks scraping her sensitive skin. Laurel loathed how much she wanted him…

Laurel chalked it up to her own desire blurring her vision but there was a far too familiar hunger that made her skin crackle with heat as Oliver’s eyes lingered on her. For a moment, a fleeting  _ blissful _ moment, the whole club melted away, the music vanished and all she could hear was the deafening pulse of her heart and all she could feel was the mind numbing phantom touch that ticked every spot of her body where his gaze rested. Then Tommy started talking again, unable to exist without being the center of attention.

“I can see you two are up to your old hunting patterns.” Laurel remarked, her gaze locked with Oliver’s, unmoving and intimate. She supposed if he was the predator, she was the willing prey...and by the look of things, it wouldn’t be long until she was in the belly of the beast.

“Just seeing what passes for fun in Starling City after five years.” Oliver replied without missing a beat, an intoxicating huskiness crackling in his voice.

“Ah,” Laurel said with a teasing smirk of her own, a giddy warmth that she hadn’t felt for five years stirring to life in her belly, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find that it just hasn’t been the same without you.”

That heat in her stomach gravitating down between her legs as Oliver’s smirk darkened, an unbearable hunger in his eyes, Laurel was almost certain he might pin her to the bar and have his way with her...she wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing, the idea of being so vulnerable in front of so many strangers, or the fact that the thought excited her more than she cared to admit.

Though Oliver’s attention was soon pulled away by Thea stumbling over, a beaming smile on her face. Despite her history with the Queen family and how much she cared for both Oliver and Thea, Laurel found herself trying to provide them with a modicum of privacy in their very public setting. Even turned away, Laurel couldn’t ignore the gravitas in Oliver’s voice, there was a firmness in his tone that hadn’t existed before. A peculiar discipline in the way he chose his words and chastised his sister. He may have looked the part of billionaire playboy and he certainly wasn’t shying away from the veritable buffet of debauchery before him, but he was  _ different  _ than he was before, she could feel it.

Thea was liable to cause a scene when she was sober, let alone when she was inebriated and angry. The younger Queen sibling’s tongue was just about as loose as her dress was skintight. Before long the girl Laurel saw as her younger sister began spilling secrets that weren’t hers to share. Laurel felt her stomach that had once been warm and fluttery from Oliver’s longing looks, turn turbulent and cold. Without prompting Tommy began spouting a half-assed apology, one that despite their casual relationship still wounded Laurel; was she really so terrible that she needed to be apologized for?

Prepared to depart the club and call the night a bust, Laurel distantly spotted the owner of the club, Max Fuller. With the ruckus Thea was causing it wouldn’t be long until Max made his way over, only to find Oliver, who was likely one of the man’s least favorite people. Laurel only knew this because during one of the brief times in her relationship with Oliver that the two were ‘off’ rather than ‘on’, Tommy had been far too pleased to inform her that Oliver had ruined Max’s rehearsal dinner by sleeping with the bride-to-be.

“Ollie,” Laurel called quietly, not trying to arouse anymore suspicion, “Can we talk? Privately.”

Oliver’s gaze flickered over to her briefly, “Can it wait?” He asked a little exasperated as he turned back to his sister.

Heaving out a sigh, Laurel grabbed Oliver’s hand, shuddering at the way his large palm seemed to swallow hers up. Max and his men were getting closer, so, no, Laurel supposed it really couldn’t wait.

“Now,  _ please _ .” Laurel insisted, watching as his features softened, his gaze lingering on their joined hands before flickering back up to meet her determined expression.

“Yeah...okay.” Oliver agreed finally, and Tommy seemed to deflate as Laurel pulled Oliver with her through the club. She was too focused on making sure Oliver didn’t get his head caved in by the burly men following Max around the club to stop and prop up Tommy’s fragile ego. There weren’t many places to hide, but she tugged him along with her into the one place she was hoping Max and his thugs wouldn’t follow…

“Um, I get this is probably important, but do we really need to have this conversation in the bathroom?” Oliver asked quietly, his warm hand still connected with hers as Laurel let out a sigh of relief. Turning back to her oldest friend, she gave a snort in response.

“Oliver Queen, squeamish? That’s new.”

A small, uncomfortable smile pulled over his lips, “It’s not - I don’t know I figured you wouldn’t want to talk  _ here _ .”

Laurel toyed with a strand of her hair, amazed at how he managed to look great even in the less than stellar lighting of the bathroom.

“Oh, I didn’t actually want to talk about anything…” She explained lamely, her eyes studying the strong lines of Oliver’s throat watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

His tongue peeked out of his mouth to wet his lips nervously, “Oh... what  _ did  _ you want to do then?”

Laurel felt the air fleet from her lungs at the hopeful lilt behind his words, the question hanging tauntingly in the air. She supposed her answer wasn’t as clear cut as she would’ve preferred. What had she wanted to do? It was more convenient to think she was saving him from his untimely demise once Max Fuller got his hands on Ollie, but was that really it? Was it all just selflessness as she would like to believe, or did Max just present an opportunity that she wouldn’t otherwise have had, given that Oliver kept putting distance between them.

Laurel let out a breath, pulling her gaze from him before she fell under that hypnotic spell of his the same that she had five years prior.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on Thea, Ollie.” Laurel said softly, her eyes not quite meeting his gaze, despite feeling the warmth of it sweep over her.

“Laurel-” Oliver began with a sigh, as much as he wanted the remnants of his former life to be just as he left it, it wasn’t. Circumstances and people had changed, and that was in no small part due to his death.

“I’m not excusing what she’s done, just maybe cut her some slack...people make mistakes and do things they regret, Ollie.” Laurel let out a sigh, her gaze lowering further to study the toes of her heels.

“Like sleeping with Tommy?” Oliver asked knowingly, Laurel’s eyes widened as she finally stared up at him. Laurel glared at her oldest friend, he knew her better than most, and had apparently determined which regrets she was referring to.

“You’re not the only one with regrets, Laurel,” Oliver whispered back before she could get defensive, “And I’m the last person who should pass judgement on anyone’s sex life...especially yours.” His voice was softer now, as were his eyes, his words prodded at an old wound, one that Laurel had desperately tried to keep covered. He had warned her, he would hurt her again if she tried to get close, but the way she figured it she was already in pain...she just wanted to feel some pleasure. If he wasn’t one to judge her sex life, maybe he wouldn’t mind helping a girl out.

Laurel collided with him, her lips on his, sloppy and wanting. She choked on a whimper when she felt a hand on her hip and another in her hair. His breath was hot as he panted against her lips.

“What are we doing?” Oliver asked, his voice trembling with barely restrained hunger. The fact that she still had that effect on him after all these years made her entire being throb with an embarrassing flattered heat.

Laurel’s tongue traced his bottom lip, savoring the way he gave a sweet shiver in response.

“Something we’ll probably regret, but hopefully we won’t...something  _ fun _ .” Laurel said in a teasing whisper.

Her breath stuck in her throat as Oliver dragged her close, his grip on her hip turning firm as he sought her lips once more. His kiss was scorching, but Laurel was more than happy to burn under its intensity. Her teeth caught the swell of his lower lip, holding it until she tasted the sweet tang of his blood, marveling at the hungry hiss he let out in return. The hand in her hair carded through the dark strands lovingly, drawing a reverent cry from the brunette. After all that had elapsed between them, Laurel wasn’t entirely sure she could handle being on the receiving end of Oliver Queen’s affection, but sex was just physical, sex was just fun.

Her tongue smoothed over the coarse scruff that lined his jaw, drawing a groan from Oliver, sucking in a sharp breath as the hand on her hip moved to give her ass a wanting squeeze. His lips followed a hot path along her neck, licking and kissing as he went, his teeth catching at the modest neckline of her dress blocking his path from going down further. Much to Laurel’s chagrin Oliver took a step back, studying the fabric of her dress, no doubt imagining himself tearing it off of her. Advancing on her once more, his fingers curled in the neckline of her dress, tugging teasingly at the fabric.

“Don’t you dare.” Laurel hissed, not quite able to hide the grin of excitement that stole over her features.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Oliver whispered as he seemed ready to rip the fabric away and happily expose her body to him.

“Ollie,” Laurel whined swatting at his shoulder, “I’m not leaving this club naked.”

“You can wear my jacket.” He suggested with that sharp grin as he leaned in close for a kiss, to distract her no doubt, a distraction that Laurel was struggling not to fall prey too. Five years on a deserted island and he was still Ollie, still the Ollie she remembered. A part of that made her ache in the way she didn’t enjoy, but she swallowed the sensation as she guided her lover’s hands to her breasts. His large warm hands gave a squeeze to the pliable flesh through the fabric of her dress that drew a moan from the brunette.

God, he still made everything feel so good.

Another squeeze and she was pushing back against him, leaning her body into the welcoming touch of his hands. His hands were quick, quicker than she ever remembered them being, as they pushed beneath the hem of her dress. His palms felt hot and heavy, the skin thick with calluses that were new in this familiar dance of theirs. They ghosted up her thighs, fingers skimming over her skin, leaving a torturous trail of fire in their wake. His hands settled over the jut of her hips, his lips were on hers, pushing and insistent, yet still warm and yielding.

Laurel pulled away from his kiss with a gasp, her lips and subsequently other parts of her left wet from the scorching embrace. She could hardly breathe, could hardly think past her desire for him. Quickly shuffling over the nearest solid structure, Laurel giggled as Oliver pressed her against the sink, the air knocked out of her as the edge of the sink dug into her stomach. A hot shiver tore up her spine when his hands found her hips again, hurriedly hiking up her dress as his lips pressed a kiss to the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Then she felt the weight of him, thick and searing even with the layers of clothes between them, the burden of his desire poking against the thin fabric of her underwear. Melodrama had never been her thing, but in that moment Laurel thought if she didn’t have him soon she might die.

“Ollie, please-” She hissed impatiently, she had waited five years for this - for him. She felt those heavy callused fingers inch towards her slippery sex and Laurel nearly leapt into the air in a whirling mixture of surprise and overwhelming need. Instead she pushed back against his fingers, desperately trying to guide the digits to the aching heat between her legs. Faintly she heard him curse beneath his breath, a sound of equal desire and exasperation.

His breath was hot against the back of her neck, his arm coming up to pull her flush against him to feel every hard line of muscle coiled tightly beneath the layers of his clothes, her shaking hands gripping the edge of the sink before her as she finally heard the telltale jingle of his belt being undone. She shivered as she felt him ease her underwear aside in a frustratingly unhurried motion, the thick head of his cock rubbing at the embarrassingly slick seam of her sex, a terribly stimulating  _ back  _ and  _ forth _ , before he sank into her welcoming hole with a breathless gasp. Oliver let out a choked sound, like he could  _ finally  _ breathe, and damn it if that wasn’t the same thing Laurel felt.

There was comfort in how familiar he felt, long and wide, stretching her open, making her ache in a way she had missed. Long since neglected nerve endings sparkling to life with each impatient stab of his cock into her. Silently she thanked him for it, for making her feel good, so good...for coming back, coming back to her...

Her fingers flexed over the edge of the sink, mouth falling open with a shaky squeak as his hips found their rhythm. It was hard and fast, and exactly what she needed. There was a loud clap as his skin met hers, slick and hot and hard where he pushed in again and again. Oliver was ravenous, like some wild beast, one hand maintaining a bruising grip on her hip as he rocked into her with apparent need. The bunched up fabric of her dress was pinched between her body and the sink, and every other teeth-chattering thrust would jerk her weight back and forth; the briefly exposed skin of her stomach would press against the cold surface drawing a little gasp from Laurel.

Laurel hissed a breath between her teeth, it was a long exhale as she slumped to lean her weight more fully against the sink. Her limbs going slack as she surrendered herself to the pleasure he offered. Her back was arched, legs spread, and her ass unceremoniously pushing back against every thrust Oliver gave her. With every wiggle of her hips following each deliciously harsh thrust of his, Laurel was rewarded with a low staticky growl from Oliver. The surface of the sink felt numbingly cold against her hot skin, a dizzying contrast to the immeasurable heat that bubbled inside of her.

Oliver pushed into her once more, her body warm and welcoming, like elastic her muscles instinctively contracted around his girth, desperate to keep him there. Her grip on the sink tightened, her eyes screwed shut as Oliver continued sawing his cock into her. His grip on her hip grew damp with sweat, though Laurel savored the knowledge that she made him break a sweat. The sink dug into her at odd uncomfortable angles, yet Laurel could still only feel  _ him _ digging into her; his cock splitting her open.

“ _ Laurel _ .” He whispered beneath his breath, the word was scorching, burning as it fell from his lips, sounding far too sinful to be her name.

In a surprisingly languid motion, Laurel pushed herself up from the sink, her legs shaking as she rocked back against his chest. One arm raising to pull him closer, her nails catching the back of his neck and Oliver malleable like putty followed where she bade. He smothered a growl against her neck, rewarded with the hot lash of his tongue against her skin. She let out a delirious sound, drunk, drowning in her own pleasure.

Laurel was sure if she was with any other partner, she might have had the self-respect to be ashamed of her wanton behavior, her hungry dripping cunt chasing the fullness his big beautiful cock provided, but this wasn’t anyone else...it was Ollie. It was him and she had always been braver when they were together. A thrill of excitement skittered up her spine when she felt the imposing weight of Oliver’s hand curl around her throat, holding her still.

Oliver’s other hand wandered over her flesh, pushing the fabric of her dress higher as his palm smoothed over her in what could only be described as appreciation. His hand sank lower as his thrusts became more shallow, nudging the weight of himself inside her. Laurel chewed her lower lip, overly sensitive with that glittery heat simmering in her belly. She swallowed a gasp when she felt Oliver’s fingers stroke between her glistening thighs, his digits catching the material of her underwear. He encouraged the fabric to settle in the slick cleft between her legs, the bunched lace grating against the swollen bundle of her nerves there. Laurel’s hips shook, the stimulation making her tremble as she attempted to focus on Oliver’s cock, thick and hard where it was still buried inside of her.

“Oliver-” Laurel choked, stirred into a frenzy between the clever tugs of her underwear grinding against her clit and the slick glide of his cock inside of her. The utterance of his name earned another harsh tug of her underwear, the scrape of the lace making her shake. A sharp thrust soon followed, the crown of his cock battering that tucked away spot that made her toes curl inside of her shoes. Her heels scraped awkwardly against the tile floor, the floor which was no doubt drenched with her own apparent wetness, the thought alone made her knees buckle.

“Mmm, Ollie.” Laurel hummed breathlessly, melting into the sensations, the torturous blessed friction against her swollen clit, the blunt throb between her legs as he fucked her so thoroughly. She wasn’t quite sure if she could last any longer, that bubbling sensation of her impending orgasm swelling in her stomach was burning higher and higher. She could feel him tremble against her, body tense as her sex fluttered around him.

Oliver continued on, relentless in the way he played her body like an instrument. Laurel keened, her hips jutting out wildly as her orgasm drew nearer. Her muscles drawn taut beneath her skin, another hard thrust beating against that tucked away gland, again and again. Her ears ringing from the intensity of the sensation burning between her thighs, one more precise tug of her underwear against her throbbing clit and Laurel was soon coming undone. Her limbs went slack, body drained of any feeling that wasn’t pleasure. She was consumed by a terrifying weightlessness, swallowed under that tide of endorphins as she stifled a cry of his name.

The rasp of Oliver’s facial hair burned against her neck, and Laurel whimpered at the spurt of his release against her thigh. It was hot and thick and dripped like melted ice cream between her legs. A part of her was saddened at the prospect of not having him fill her up in the ways she had dreamt of over the years. The groan he rumbled in her ear made her gaping, aching hole flex around nothingness, unbearably desperate for the width of him once more.

Blinking her bleary eyes she seemed to return to herself, Laurel vaguely registered the tingle of pins and needles shooting up and down her legs.

Her hair hung in a mess before her eyes as she turned her gaze towards the mirror in front of the sink. Her reflection stared back at her, her hair was the mess she feared it was, sticking to her temples with sweat and whatever hairspray still remained when she had attempted styling it, the clip dangled uselessly clutching the ends of her dark hair. Her mascara had run, leaving unappealing muddy shadows around her eyes. Though nothing shocked her more than the sight of Oliver’s reflection staring back at her, his bright blue eyes aflame with an unfathomable want. The hand hanging loosely around her throat inched higher, fingers caressing her jaw with a tenderness that contrasted their rough lovemaking.

Laurel flinched at the affection, she had braced herself for whatever pain would follow her poor decisions, but this...this hurt too, it stung in a way she hadn’t prepared for. Pulling away from him, Laurel tried not to focus on the way his shoulders seemed to draw inwards or how his lips settled in a firm line. His eyes darkened, head bowed as reality came back to them both. He was still the guy who had cheated on her with her sister, and she was still the woman who had grieved the loss of him by climbing into bed with his best friend.

She felt stupid, she was in control this time, walking with her eyes opening knowingly expecting the sting of pain. She had seen the fire and stuck her hand in it anyway, why was she surprised by the burn?

Laurel knew far too well that she shouldn’t expect anything serious from Oliver, she couldn’t hope for anything more than what she had asked for. Hope was a fickle tricky thing and she refused to let that burgeoning bud to flower into another garden of regret. Inhaling a steadying breath, the air tasted of him, though she tried to ignore it in favor of reigning in her stubborn emotions.

“Laurel-” He whispered, his features schooled into something unreadable, but there was still clarity in the desperate way he said her name. She didn’t like the way her whole body still felt connected with his, attuned to his despite the distance between them. A coarse handful of paper towels from the dispenser by the door helped scrub away the evidence of their coupling from her thighs. Her skin felt raw, cold and dead without the warmth of him to thaw her icy exterior.

She averted her gaze as Oliver quietly rearranged his clothes, the gentle jingle of his belt made her stomach tense, igniting this abhorrent cry for  _ more _ deep in her being.

“I was right,” Laurel said with an uncharacteristically cold smile pulling on her lips, “this was fun.” There was a triumph in being right, but it was hopelessly tarnished by the unforgiving weight of her ever present desire. In a way Laurel found it fitting, this ugly, desperate tryst of theirs, it was an ironic revelation - after all these years they were still all that passed for fun.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I missed Lauriver so so much. This work was something that I've had in my drafts for a little while, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, I struggled a lot with deciding where to end this fic, but it's been so long since I've written something for these two that I couldn't not share it.


End file.
